


Up in Smoke

by jujus_writing_corner



Series: Whumptober 2019 [2]
Category: Real Person Fiction, Youube RPF
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Explosions, Gen, Whumptober 2019, android gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 08:50:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20863517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujus_writing_corner/pseuds/jujus_writing_corner
Summary: Oliver's latest project blows up in his face.Whumptober Day 2: Explosion





	Up in Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> So, you ever seen a work safety PSA? I like to watch PSA compilations on YouTube because I'm a weirdo, and I had every work safety PSA I've ever seen running through my mind as I wrote this XD
> 
> Also, I know nothing about tech. So. Pls pretend this makes sense ;w;
> 
> Enjoy!

It’s not actually his own project that Oliver’s currently working on. It’s Chrome’s, and anyone who knows the Googles well would be able to tell: If there’s an in-progress, futuristic weapon somewhere in the control room, it’s safe to assume it’s Chrome’s creation. He’d been struggling with this particular weapon, a wide-beam particle cannon, for nearly a week until Google finally asked the others to take a look at it, since he knew Chrome was too stubborn to. Oliver offered to check it out, and now he’s peering into the half-finished cannon on his workstation table, trying to see where the snag Chrome described is coming from. What used to produce a pretty reliable beam is now sputtering and less concentrated, suggesting…well, any number of things, really. A weapon like this, the first of its prototype, is unpredictable.

Oliver hardly ever works with weapons; the last big project he finished was a more precise automatic watering system for Bim’s greenhouse. But technology is technology, and Oliver is as skilled with weapons as he is with anything, even if it’s less familiar. Holographic screens before him remind him of what he’s checked and what’s been ruled out, and provide all the metrics of the previous tests that Chrome’s run with the cannon so far. Calling it a “cannon” is a bit misleading; the weapon is small and sleek, though much wider on the end to accommodate a larger beam. It so fits Chrome’s usual take-it-and-make-it-even-deadlier motif that Oliver almost giggled when he first saw it. It’s sophisticated, though, that much is evident.

Although working on the cannon isn’t hard, it’s finicky, and it’s difficult to manipulate the tiny bolts and wires and cylinders with safety gloves on. It’s even harder to see the parts with the face shield Oliver has to wear. He and his brothers are generally good about wearing their safety gear, but Oliver can’t help but feel annoyed with it. No wonder Chrome couldn’t find the issue! Oliver can barely see his own gloves hands, much less each tiny part of the cannon. In a moment of frustration, he lifts his mask to get a better look at the wires he’s manipulating. There’s finally a click, a spark, and Oliver wonders if he fi–

_BOOM!_

Oliver staggers backwards, ears ringing. The cannon is ruined, but Oliver can only sort of see it. He wants to rub his eyes, but his hands feel weird, wet. His face feels wet, too. Warning messages pop up in his mind, but his head is too fuzzy to make sense of them. He hardly registers the thumping footsteps until they’re a few feet behind him. He won’t recall the next few moments later, but Plus will, because it’s him who’s run in to see what that explosion was. Before he can ask, Oliver turns to face him.

Half his face is gone.

Much of the left side of his face is stripped of skin, and smoldering divots and holes warp the metal beneath – what little of it is visible under the oil running like blood. His nose is blown away, and part of his lips are burned off, showing the teeth and metal gums beneath. One eye is completely gone; there’s no sign of it in the cavern of Oliver’s eye socket, only some optic wires poking out, burned to a crisp on the ends.

Plus can feel his systems revolting at the sight, rearing up in terror, but he can’t move.

Oliver’s mouth moves –_ What happened? _– but no sound comes out. His remaining eye rolls back into his head and he drops like a brick.

Plus drops too, scrambling to catch him. He manages to keep Oliver from landing too hard, pulling him into his lap as he pings Google and Chrome for help, once, twice, three times for good measure. He should already know what to do, but there’s never been an accident this bad before. For how many times he’s gone over safety procedures and damage control methods in his mind, he’s frozen now that it’s time to use them. All he can do is pull Oliver’s charred, shredded safety gloves off his hands (_they might stick to his hands if they aren’t taken off right away)_. Oliver’s hands are black. Plus is amazed they’re still attached.

“Ollie,” he gasps, unable to say anything else. He brushes oil-soaked bangs out of Oliver’s face, and his panic-stricken brain floods his system with adrenaline.

Plus trembles harder the longer he looks at Oliver’s incomplete, ruined face. Somehow he’s still alive, and Plus knows he should do something to keep him that way. He should get something to stem the flow of oil out of Oliver’s face, or remove loose bits of metal and shrapnel, or even look around and see if his eye is still in one piece somewhere in the room. But he’s stuck.

Stuck, until Google and Chrome dash into the room at the same time. They both do a double-take at Oliver’s injuries; Plus catches Chrome’s eyes flick to the destroyed particle cannon, watches guilt flood into his features as his eyes face forward again. Google takes in a long breath through his nose, the way he always does when he feels horrible but doesn't want to show it. Plus looks up at them. He thinks he might be crying. Or there’s oil on his face. There’s oil all over him. He feels sick.

“What do we do?” he asks, voice weak and trembling.

At that, the room explodes again, this time into a flurry of activity as Google directs Plus and Chrome into action, whisking Oliver away into the repair ward.

In the end, all that’s left in the room is a large puddle of oil, a pair of shredded safety gloves, and the particle cannon, more broken than it was before.

**Author's Note:**

> If I was fixing a wide-beam particle cannon I would simply not take off my face shield, rip to Oliver but I'm different
> 
> Don't worry, he'll be fine. Probably :p


End file.
